Page 29 of Framing the Pitch (Red Dirt Romance #1)
Heather Cannon Baer walks toward us with a smile on her face.
While it looks pleasant from afar, the sharp look in her blue eyes becomes visible as she closes the distance between us.
As do the gray streaks through her blonde bob and the fine lines around her eyes and mouth.
Shorter than me by half a foot, she’s still fit from her skiing, even though she hasn’t competed in more than two decades, and she’s still what many would consider beautiful, even though she’s past her athletic prime.
“Naomi. Trace.” No hellos or other courtesies. She doesn’t extend her hand to Trace or offer me any sort of embrace. While my mom has never been super affectionate with me, her greeting is one icicle shy of the North Pole.
“It’s nice to see you again, Mrs. Baer,” Trace says cordially, sliding a hand around my waist, lending me some of his stability in the face of my mother.
Mom’s eyes flick to Trace in acknowledgment for the briefest moment before her scrutiny is back on me.
I’ve weathered her severe looks on my own so many times, I can hardly keep count, but Trace’s hand tightens on my waist, reminding me that he’s here, we’re a team, and I don’t have to face her alone.
“I tried calling you.” Mom crosses her arm, assuming the familiar stance of looking down her nose at me while looking up at my face.
“My phone’s on airplane mode.”
“Jenna needed you, and you didn’t answer.”
“If Jenna needed me, Jenna would call me.” And she did, before we embarked in San Antonio, to give me the details of the bridesmaid dress fitting I need to be at this afternoon.
Mom sniffs and looks back at Trace, as if she finds conversing with me suddenly tiresome. “I’ll send Christa over with your weekend schedule. I expect you to be at all appointments and events on time.” With a tight smile, she turns and walks away, leaving me and Trace staring after her.
Trace bends down to grab the handle of my rolling gear bag. “I forgot how much I don’t like your mom.” He bumps my elbow with his, and we turn to make our way to the elevators on the other side of the lobby.
Once we’re in the room, I set my suitcase on the end of my bed and pull out a change of clothes. While my sweats and slides are perfect for flying, they’re not the greatest for a lunch date out in a swanky resort town before a dress fitting for my little sister’s wedding.
“I’m going to get spruced up,” I announce to Trace as he sprawls on his bed. “The fitting isn’t until four, so we’re going to lunch.” Trace raises his eyebrows, and I raise one right back. “Or do you want to chance another run-in with my mom?”
He sighs and sits up. “I can’t argue with you there.”
“Of course, you can come back here before the fitting if you don’t want to sit through it.” I pull my makeup bag out and hold it to my chest with my change of clothes. “It shouldn’t take long.”
“No, I’ll come with you,” Trace says, sitting up on the bed.
“Are you sure? It’s not a big deal. It’s just going to be me putting on a dress, hopefully not getting stabbed with pins, and then taking it off again.
” I step into the bathroom, setting my change of clothes on the counter.
“I think all the bridesmaids are going to be there, too, if you’re lumping avoiding the wedding party in with avoiding my mom,” I call into the other room as I open my makeup bag.
The light from the other room dims as Trace fills the doorway.
“I’m sure. We’re a team out here, remember?”
I sigh, giving Trace a little eye roll, but inside, I’m relieved.
Running into my mom was bad enough; I don’t know if I’d make it through a civil conversation with my sister and her friends.
“If you’re sure.” I meet Trace’s eyes, trying to weed out any hint that he really doesn’t want to come with me, but instead I find warmth.
No, heat . The toes of his shoes cross into the bathroom, but he stops before he fully steps in, like he’s not sure if he should go any further.
He reaches for me, and I step toward him, closing the gap, and let him pull me into his arms. His hands cup the back of my neck, and I feel like I’m simultaneously going to combust and ice over.
The touch makes me feel cherished, like I’m the only thing Trace is worried about right now, even though there’s about a million other things that could be taking his attention. “Of course, I’m sure, Sugar.”
“Okay,” I whisper, and I watch his eyes dip to my mouth before finding mine again. For a second, I think he might kiss me—if he doesn’t I might—but then he drops his hands and takes a half step back out of the bathroom.
With another smile—one I’ve seen a million times, but recently has made me feel all sorts of things it didn’t used to—Trace swings the bathroom door shut, and I listen for his footsteps over to his bed before I turn back to my pile of clothes.
When I’m done changing, I open the door while I fix up my hair. Dutch braids don’t really mix with the pale blue sleeveless blouse and denim shorts I picked for both looking effortlessly put-together for lunch and ease of changing at the fitting.
I undo the elastics and finger-comb through my hair, the morning it spent in braids leaving my normally straight hair in waves. Working the voluminous red mass into a high ponytail with my fingers, I stop and turn when I sense Trace at the bathroom door again.
“Leave it down,” he requests. “I like it better that way.”
Heat fills my face as I turn back to the mirror, but I drop my hands, letting the ponytail fall out, and start rearranging pieces until I’m happy with it .
“Well,” I announce, turning back to Trace, who’s looking at me with a soft smile, “this is as good as it’s gonna get. You ready to go?”
Trace raises a hand, lifting my purse onto my shoulder.
He lets his hand slide away from the strap to wrap around the back of my upper arm.
Leaning close, he presses a short kiss to my forehead, and I greedily hoard all of the sparks that let loose in my body from that small touch, tucking them away to admire later.
His hand slides down my arm to interlock with mine, and he pulls me out of the bathroom and toward the door. “Let’s go before your mom can catch us in the lobby again.”
I let out a laugh as we leave. I know we’ll have to spend some time with my parents as the weekend goes on, but it doesn’t have to be today.
I let Trace lead me out of the hotel and down the street, even though I haven’t told him which direction the bridal boutique is.
Overhead, clouds are beginning to move in, but before I can wonder whether it’ll rain while we’re here, my phone rings, Jenna’s number showing up on screen.
“Hello?”
“Hey, Naomi. Mom just called me.”
My stomach drops, the thought that I wouldn’t have to deal with Mom anymore today flying out the window.
“She said she wasn’t sure if you were going to make it to the fitting.
” I can feel Jenna’s stress leaking through the phone.
What on earth would possess Mom to tell Jenna that?
She saw us for all of two seconds and didn’t have the decency to talk to us longer than giving us the barest amounts of information.
“We just walked out of the hotel and are on our way to lunch. Don’t we have, like, three hours before the fitting?”
“Wait. You’re here?”
“Um, yeah?” I look over at Trace, confused .
“Mom made it sound like you were still in Texas.”
Of course.
“Nooo…” I drag out the word, an uneasy feeling growing in my stomach. “We landed like an hour ago. Trace and I were going to grab lunch and then head over to the fitting. What’s the address of the shop again?”
“Oh! Uh…” Jenna rattles off the address of the shop, her voice growing distant like she’s reading it off her phone. “So you will be there?”
“Yes. Of course I’ll be there. I said I would.”
A sigh comes through the line. I don’t know if Jenna’s relieved that I’m not skipping out or frustrated with our mom. If it were me, I’d definitely know which one I’d be, but Jenna has always had a closer relationship with our mom than I have.
Jenna clears her throat, and her next words sound happier than before, though the quick change leaves me feeling vaguely unpleasant. “That’s great. We’ll see you then.”
Jenna ends the call, and I pinch the bridge of my nose as I slip my phone into a back pocket. Sensing my irritation, Trace wordlessly extends his hand to me, which I take, then leads me in the direction of lunch.